


Tastes like home

by Velegathra



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Food, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Neurodiversity, Stitches, Toxic Masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 08:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18634279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velegathra/pseuds/Velegathra
Summary: After an incident Will prefers not to go to a hospital, but to let Hannibal tend to his injuries.To learn more about Hannibals cooking in this fic, take a look at the end notes.For the mentioned music please consult youtube: Čiurlionis, Nocturnes.





	Tastes like home

Things went sideway when their latest killer miscalculated. They went in and did not only find him, but also his latest victim, very much alive, armed with a glass shard and in full blown panic from their forced breaking of the front and back doors. Their killer was bleeding out on the floor. The lady he had taken fit into his picture of prey. An immigrant woman, in her mid 20s, moved to the US from Africa no more than three years ago. What he miscalculate was that this lady was from Eritrea and had served in the army for over five years, before she made it to the US. And there was no way she would let him take her life, without taking her chances. She had slipped a picture frame from a cupboard when he moved her through his house, later broken it and created a makeshift blade. She managed to kill him through the distraction when the government agents knocked, but then she panicked. Slipping out of an upstair window dropping from a roof she ran into Will who was waiting in the back garden for the raid to be over. When he flinched and touched his gun she did not hesitate. He was lucky that she did not want to kill him. When he raised his hands and told her **_We’re not after you, you won’t be harmed, you did well, things will be ok_** she recognised her mistake, still not sure if she should run. Will did not look dangerous. His weapon on the ground, fallen to his knees in front of her. She placed her makeshift blade on the ground too. She sat down beside him out there in the sunshine and murmured  ''Sorry''.

He looked at her and saw how she had fought against a man who took her, to bleed her out. And not only that. He saw pieces of her past, that she had killed before and how it made her still feel devastated. He felt her forced loss of a different life she had imagined for herself, when she had technically still been a teenager obliged to join an army. 

Blood drenched his shirt at his ribcage, where her first blow had landed, when his hand flinched to the gun and at his right collarbone, where she diverted the second blow from her original aim at his throat, when he had raised his arms and gone down on his knees.

She had been much calmer when she stepped into the ambulance, to get her wounds tended at hospital. Her hands had been cut by her own blade and the immigrant killer hadn’t gone down without a fight. She had a mild concussion and some nasty bruises and sprains.

 

* * *

 

After the paramedics had sticked some gauze over the cuts on Will and told him to come to the hospital, after he was finished at the scene to get stitched up, he entered the house, fully intending to ignore their directive. Half an hour later Jack was happy and Will stepped out into the sunshine to get to his car, when he found Hannibal waiting there. Will frowned at him. The whole thing went well, his mind was not that bad, not even after the crime scene inside and the murder chamber. 

''Why did Jack call you?''

Hannibal smiled ''To take you to hospital, to get stitches and a tetanus vaccine''.

Will ground his teeth. He tried to avoid hospitals at all cost. He hated the smell, the stupid questions, the fluorescent lights that made him nauseous and maybe the worst was the constant probing and touching. When he got stabbed while he was with the police, he had spent delirious days there, suffering trough an antibiotic resistant infection of his wound, due to bad hospital hygiene. 

''Not going'' he pressed out between his teeth, stepping around Hannibal to get into his car, anger radiating from him. Jack was an asshole.

 

Hannibal lightly touched his hand when he unlocked the car. Looking down on him he sighted '' Will that needs stitches'', he hesitated shortly. '' What do you intend to do?'' he murmured while holding onto Wills hand with the keys.

Will bit his lip and opted for the truth. ''I can actually do it myself. I have done it before.''

Hannibals lips twitch in surprise. ''You don’t like hospitals'', he states.

Will nods, slowly looking into his face, but avoiding the eyes.

Hannibal hums considering, then smiles. ''Do you trust me?''

Will snorts ''In what capacity?''

''As an actual MD.'' The corners of Hannibals mouth loop upwards. ''If you prefer I can do your stitches, it would actually make _**me** _feel much easier, than the knowledge that you will do them yourself. Not that I doubt your abilities, but both of your wounds are not very accessible for you.''

Will feels a lot better now that he knows Hannibal won’t force him to hospital. That big weight lifted leads him to ask lightheadedly ''If it is not too much effort?''

Hannibal shakes his head. ''Humor me and let me fix you'', he smirks.

Will glances shortly at his eyes as a thanks, seeing them smile at him.

 

* * *

 

They meet at Hannibals house, Will arriving first and wondering where Hannibal went, when he pulls up two minutes after him. 

Hannibal carries a paper bag inside where he leads him to the kitchen, first handing him a glass of water and some painkiller pills. Will is at the edge of refusing them when again he smiles at him and utters ''Please humour me Will'', then vanishes, leaving him to himself.

Sighting he downs the pills with water.

After two minutes Hannibal returns and leads him to a guest room, where he had spread a big white towel over the duvet cover and placed a tablet with gauze, a sewing kit, sterile gloves, some kind of wound dressing and three syringes. A big first aid kit is set on the floor beside the bed. He gestures to the towel for Will to sit and pulls himself a chair, facing him.

''Can you remove your shirt or should I cut it off?'' Will opts for the latter, considering it was cut half open by the paramedics before anyway. He shudders when Hannibal carefully guides the rounded scissors tip up to his neck while cutting the fabric. When the bled through gauze is removed and some dried blood ripped from the wound it starts to bleed again instantly. The look of his torso is quite gruesome. Especially the cut at his ribs looks raw and open and Wills shock is gone by now. Against his will he start to shiver while Hannibal cleans the area with iodine and alcohol swipes. 

Hannibal hums to himself and then tips Will over on his good side, taking him by surprise. He slides Wills shoes off and lifts his feet on the bed as well. The whole thing making Will suddenly feel very shaky and on the edge of spilling tears and he despises himself for it. His father would have taken non of it. _And he wouldn't have been half as gentle_  reminds him a voice in the back of his mind.

''I will apply the local anaesthetic now'', Hannibal states while softly supporting his latex clad hands at Wills side. Refusing this, or talking in general suddenly feels too much of an ordeal to Will. He is afraid that his voice will give away how bad he actually feels right now and stay silent. Hannibal talks him through it while he uncaps the syringe and pushes the needle into variable points of Wills sore flesh around the wound. 

When he is done, now waiting for the numbing to set in he looks down on him and Will can’t stop shivering, pressing his eyes shut with the feeling of humiliation. Goosebumps dance over his skin.

''Are you cold?'' Hannibal asks with concern.

Will shakes his head. He actually is, but he admitted enough weaknesses today. 

''You look so though.'' Hannibals left hand comes to rest on Wills neck, pushing slow circles into the skin of his hairline, radiating warmth into him. Will doesn't really know what to make out of that, but it feels calming and his shivering becomes less violent. 

''I will probe you skin with my fingers and if you think it is numb enough, I will start the sewing'' Hannibal announces to him. 

He feels the strange sensation of fingers probing his unfeeling skin. 

''Ok?''

Will shrugs. He did not feel much, and to be honest he does not really know how it should feel. When he got stabbed as an officer he was out cold when they fixed him, and at the two occasions when he was a youth, his father did the sewing himself, with some fishing line and of course having no local anaesthetic. The first occasion because they had a problem with insurance, the second because Will wanted to spare his father the drive to the next hospital. It wouldhave taken them hours and his father did not get enough sleep anyway. The **_Thats my boy_ **with a patting on his shoulder made him happy enough to bite through the pain.

When Hannibal starts sewing he only feels a slight pressure and tugging. Sew - knot - cut - repeat. Will is actually a bit surprised that it really _**is**_ painless and after some minutes relaxes into the feeling of Hannibals hands working on him, letting the setting tiredness take him. A bit like emerging from under water he takes a deep breath, when he hears him say:

''Your side is all done and dressed. Can you sit while I do your shoulder?'' Hannibal rolls him on his back and helps him sit up with a hand at his neck. Will feels dizzy from the change of position and starts shivering again. He inspects his ribs, noting only a thin gauze sheet dressing under a transparent foil plaster. It looks neat. He is not used to neat, concerning his body. 

Hannibal has changed his gloves and starts to clean the cut crossing his collar bone. He uses the rest of the local anaesthetic of the first syringe, placing it into his skin. When it is empty he wants to open a fresh syringe, but Will stops him.

''There is really no need. You don’t have to open a new one. It would be a waste.''

Hannibal tips Wills head up by the chin, making him look directly at his earnest expression, but Will avoids his eyes. ''Will... if something so small can spare you pain and nerves I do not consider it a waste, even if I only use it in part.'' He lets go and again dons new gloves, cracking the fresh syringe open and plunging a quarter of the local anaesthetic around his wound. 

Will feels strange, being so close that their knees are nearly touching, doing nothing but waiting for the anaesthetic to work. Sitting itself feels straining by now and he slumps a bit. Hannibal bins his gloves on the growing rubbish pile at their feet. Slowly, to give Will time to adjust, he curls his right hand around his neck. Will stiffens first, but then allows Hannibal to guide his head agains his shoulder. Goosebumps rise again on Wills arms, as he breaths in Hannibals distinctive smell. The hand on his neck stays and starts to work circles into his nape. He allows his head to grow heavy. Will really doesn't get why Hannibal is doing this, but he feels selfish at the moment and wants to keep this nice feeling a little longer, so he ignores the inner voice, that tells him that he should man up and get some distance, for once. No one can see him like this anyway and Hannibal is unlikely to tell anyone.

Again follows probing and stitching and Will can feel Hannibals breath on his face, smelling slightly of anise, because he has to lean in close, to get the needle in at the right angle over his collar bone. Hannibals face is calm and has a serene quality while his focus is only on the tools in his hand, working Wills flesh close. 

Will has been aware that Hannibal was a very good MD, since he had seen him working on the victim in the ambulance, holding together a life without batting an eye and also when he saved Abigail from bleeding out. But experiencing Hannibals full focus and expertise tuned in solemnly on himself, that was another thing entirely. He was not only extremely efficient and calm, but his hands were gentle the whole time. It gave Will a heady feeling and he was unsure what to do with it. He kept watching Hannibals face, for this was a rare opportunity of looking without being looked at in return.  At the end a sheet of gauze and a transparent foil plaster were applied over the wound and it was done. 

When Hannibals hands leave him, he looks down with a lump in his throat, feeling strangely bereaved.

Hannibal stops Will from getting up with a hand at his good shoulder, making him look up in question.

''One last thing.'' An alcohol swipe is quickly rubbed against his left arm and Hannibal is already uncapping the last syringe before Will can protest. It is unceremoniously plunged into his muscle and Wills breath is speeding up feeling betrayed, shutting down and going into fight mode. The unknown stuff burns in his arm. Adrenalin makes his heart beat loud and fast but before he can do anything, Hannibal has already recapped the empty syringe. Noticing Wills agitation, he holds it in front of his eyes to read the printed label. - **Tetanus** -. Wills shoulders slump and his breath gushes out. He hates himself for this reaction. Now the he knows, a tetanus shot seems the perfect logical thing to do. Only, that he never experienced receiving stitches in actual medical care, in a conscious state before. 

A very small piece of the gauze sheet and the transparent wound dressing are placed over the little drop of blood, collecting at the puncture site. Hannibal tenderly rubs his thumb over the dressing and murmurs in a sincere pitch: ''Sorry, I thought you would have guessed what I was doing. I did not want to alarm you.''

He collects the rubbish pile at their feet and the towel of the bed and points Will to a door at the end of the guest room. 

''Feel free to take a shower, your wound dressings are water proof, so no reason to worry. I have put some towels and fresh cloths in the bathroom earlier. I will prepare some food in the meantime.'' He closes the door behind him and leaves Will to his own device.

 

* * *

 

Slowly Will makes his way into the bath room, taking his time, while washing off the grime and blood on his body, using Hannibals high end shampoo and shower gel. After he dries himself off and awkwardly dresses into the white cotton shirt and loose yoga pants, while trying not to strain his stitches, he stares at the big guest room bed. He is feeling totally drained by now and the painkillers give him a fuzzy feeling in the head. To lie down, just for a moment, seems extremely inviting. He sits down on the edge of the bed, considering, when he sees a glass of water at the nightstand, that has not been there before and a white piece of paper with a handwritten note. It is folded in the middle and says ''Drink me!'' in tall letters on top. Written inside when he unfolds it is: ''It is fine if you want to lie down for a bit.''

Smirking at the joke making him Alice, he drinks the water and slips under the duvet. Hannibal might know him too well, he muses and he treats him far too nice. He really should not get used to it, but for now he allows himself to enjoy it as long as it lasts.

 

* * *

 

Will startles awake when the mattress slightly dips. Hannibal sits at the edge of the bed, looking concerned. ''I knocked and when you didn’t answer after some tries, I decided to check on you.You did not wake when I called you.'' He lifts his hand to Wills brow, hovering over it. ''May I?'' Will nods and slightly cool, dry fingers touch his burning forehead. ''Seems like you are running a fever. Nothing to worry though, this can also be a reaction to the vaccine. Do you feel up to eating something?''

''I guess.'' Wills voice is raw with sleep when he answers. 

Hannibal passes him a pair of warm socks and a soft cardigan and goes ahead, while Will puts them on. His circulation is still sloppy and he is aware that he did lose a bit of blood today as the reason why. Slowly he follows Hannibal into the dining room, taking his time and allowing himself to let his hand trail along the wall, for some security. 

Dinner starts with beetroot soup, containing pork bits and potato, followed by Foie de Veau Lyonnaise and ends, much to Wills surprise, with a plate of two curiously draped pecan pralines with a whorl of candied lime zest on top of each. 

A big smile curls Wills lips, when he picks up one of the pralines, after he took a swig of water to wash down the last taste of the liver and onions. The sweet smell and the familiar texture while taking the first bite flush memories and pictures into his mind that he thought long lost. The pecan taste of the still warm pralines draw him in even deeper into his past self. Only the unfamiliar bitter sweet zest keeps him from completely drowning in his thoughts and links him to the presence. He feels Hannibals curious eyes on him, watching the emotions that billow over Wills face intently. He looks smug with himself, for making Wills feelings spill with a simple and tiny dessert. 

Will does not know, if he should despise him for that. He hates the vulnerability of it, but on the other hand no one else had _ever_ made the effort to bake for him. And even if someone did, he knew nobody who would bother to know him well enough, to pick something that would trigger so much in him, with a tiny bite. 

When he lifts the second treat to his mouth he turns away from Hannibal. He does not need to see him like this, on the brink of tears because of a stupid cookie. 

Later Hannibal takes the dishes back into the kitchen, while Will lingers in the doorway, watching him work. He needed to go back to wolftrap and he was fairly sure he could make it, even if he felt exhausted and tired already again. 

''Thanks for sparing me the hospital and for the food. It was very good. I’ll collect my things and then you are rid of me. Sorry, for taking up so much of your time.''

Hannibal turns aroundand dries his hands at a kitchen towel. Will shrinks back a bit when he steps before him, invading his space and touching his brow with the back of his hand. He looks dissatisfied and shakes his head. ''No Will, you are still running a fever and I won’t let you drive like this. I called Alanna earlier and she would be amenable to take care of your dogs for today. You can stay here and take the guest room.''

Will frowns for being patronised and is on the verge of protesting sharply, already opening his mouth when Hannibal sights and says: ''As an alternative I am willing to drive you, if you must insist, but I’d rather not.''

 

Human traits in general are something that Hannibal avoids. He tends to look smooth and well dressed, even if it’s just Will he is dealing with. Purposeful he now lets his tiredness of the already long day bleed into his posture. His shoulders slumping slightly, he supports himself with his left on the doorframe.

 

It’s beautiful to observe how fast Will reacts. His open mouth, ready to protest, shuts itself instantly and guilt blooms as a slightly darker shade of pink on his already fever flushed cheeks.

''Your guest room is fine'', he murmurs. 

Hannibal nods and goes back to finish the dishes. He smiles to himself, enjoying his victory while darkness sets outside.

 

* * *

 

After that, Will doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He follows Hannibal into the living room, feeling lost and out of place. His mood lightens, when he sees that at some point in time Hannibal had collected Wills briefcase from his car, leaving it propped up against the sofa. Thankful for sparing him the need for conversation, he gladly starts to grade some papers.

After starting a fire, dimming the main lights down and positioning a floor lamp behind Will to illuminate his grading process, Hannibal lowers himself into an armchair and takesup a drawing board and pencils from a small table beside it. Before he actually starts drawing, he collects a remote control and flicks on a piano piece on a hidden audio system.

_'This is nice'_   Wills thinks to himself. It feels natural and he is at ease, something he barely experiences, outside the company of his dogs. Hannibal radiating warmth and acceptance makes him feel more content than he ever really was in the presence of another human being. He would not mind spending more evenings like this and wants to slap himself for even having that thought.

Some music pieces pass and at one point of intermediate silence, Will dares to ask for the composers name.

Hannibal smiles ''Čiurlionis, his Nocturnes. A rather unknown artist.''

''Where did you find him then?'' Will flicks back, not sure if Hannibal wants to spoof him on his underwhelming knowledge of classical music.

''I did not, his music was gifted to me a long time ago. In fact,'' he muses, ''I am not able to remember a time, when I did not have it with me, in some way or the other.'' His eyes fix on Wills, who is painfully aware how private his question was and who does not dare to avoid his eyes. He is even holding his breath. Observing this reaction and knowing Wills unlucky relationship to his own mother, Hannibal decides to go all in. He wants to see the emotions on Wills face, while he allows a part of his real person to be seen, even when it means that he has to inflict some emotional pain on himself, to do so. 

''My mother used to play them to me as a lullaby, later she taught me one of his pieces, as the first thing I ever learned to play. I was told she liked to play it to herself, when she couldn’t sleep during her pregnancy with me.''

The pang of pain, remembering her, is absolutely worth it, when he watches Wills unguarded face. Astonishment letting his mouth fall open a little followed by understanding and joy about the love, Hannibal must have experienced as a child. A little embarrassment mixes in, as he recognises the privacy of this memory, but also happiness that Hannibal had deemed him enough of a friend that he had shared it with him. He smiles and goes back to grading his papers and Hannibal watches him discreetly as the understanding slowly sinks in that he had never remotely experienced a similar kind of love, for life deprived him of the chance. A little frown appears on his lips and he seems unsure what to do with this information. He gnaws at his bottom lip and for a moment a mix of envy, followed by shame for feeling it appears, but then he seems to dismiss the thought, or file it away somewhere in his brain for later and resumes the grading. 

Hannibal sketches Will various times, catching the expressions he just observed. When he looks up the next time, it is nearly 22:00 and Wills head has fallen on the backrest of the sofa in sleep. His left is still curled around a paper on his lap, while his right has fallen on the sofa, cradling his pen.

Hannibal leans back to study him thoroughly, his eyes roaming over Wills body without shame, taking his time to conserving the moment to his memory. He takes out a fresh sheet and picks a charcoal pencil. At 23:00 he is pleased enough with his work and carefully stores it away. Although he would be more than happy, to sketch away for the rest of the night, this will have to do, if he wants to avoid Will waking up in pain and with an awfully stiff neck.

He carefully touches Wills good shoulder, leaning in slightly and calling his name. Wills eyes open, hazily looking up to him in confusion.

''You need to go to bed.'' He takes the pen and the paper Will was grading from his hands and pulls him up, pleased that he pliantly follows his directive. 

''I put a toothbrush in your bathroom.''

Will nods, more to himself and wanders into the guest room. He only notices that he did not say good night when he leaves the bathroom again and finds another glass of water and two tablets, obviously another dose of painkiller, on his nightstand. A small sheet of paper explains, in Hannibals curled handwriting, that one tablet is for now and the second one only exists in case he wakes up in pain during the night. It ends in a curled _Good night Will._

 

* * *

 

When Will wakes up, he lies still for a moment and appreciates the lack of nightmares that he can remember. His wounds ache slightly and he notices that his left arm muscles feels sore where he received the shot, but otherwise he feels ok. Unsure what to do, he opens the door and walks to the kitchen, following the smell of coffee. 

After Hannibal prepared him a small breakfast, as well as a really good cup of coffee and made him swallow half of a painkiller he sends him home, but not without a bag containing fresh, water proof wound covers, some other painkillers and a small crucible of antibiotic ointment. 

On his way home Will notices that the morning had not felt awkward. 

This was new.

 

* * *

 

One and a half week later, after their latest „friendly“ conversation Hannibal stops Will from leaving. His hand lingers on his right shoulder lightly pressing in where he knows lie his sutures. 

''I’d like to take a look. I suspect, that I can take out the threads today. I am aware that you are fully capable of removing them yourself, but I’d prefer if you'd let me.'' He coaxes him.

Will nods, happy on the perspective to get rid of the troublesome things already and follows Hannibal, who leads him into the guest bath room after collecting a medical bag out of a cabinet on their way. 

Will sits on the edge of the bath tub, his shirt deposited over the rim. Hannibal traces the sutures with hands clad in gloves. Although Will feels much more at ease in his company than he did two weeks ago, he still stiffens at the foreign touch, goosebumps forming on his abdomen. ''Looks good'' Hannibal states. He kneels at Wills feet, snipping and pulling the first set of threads from the scar at his ribs. 

To distract himself from the strange setting, Will looks straight ahead and muses ''You know, when I removed the dressing you put over the wound, when you made the stitches, it did not stick. I did not bleed at all when I changed it, can you imagine.''

Finished with Wills side Hannibal gets up and looks at him, with a ting of disbelief in his eyes. 

''I really am telling you the truth. After driving home that day, I thought I’d get it over with, because I really hate to clean up the bleeding that normally goes with picking the gauze away. It came off clean, no bleeding at all.''

''Oh Will'' Hannibal sights. ''Of course I do believe you, it did not stick because I used non adherent gauze. It is **meant** to not stick. I am just seriously questioning the people who previously gave you medical care.''

Will shrugs, somehow feeling very conscious of Hannibals eyes gracing the ugly stabbing scar on his left shoulder - remaining from his cop days - with a disapproving look.

''A normal dressing would have been fine'', he murmurs. ''No need for tenderness'', Will echoes a quote of his father, using the same mocking tone as he did and remembering the contemptuous expression on his face, that he used to wear, when he encountered someone who offered something he considered a weakness and a waste of time.

Hannibal hums and starts to cut the threads in his shoulder, pulling them out one by one. ''What if I desire to give you tenderness.'' His face is close now, focused on the threads. Will can feel his breath ghosting over the skin of his neck.

He stares at the floor feeling uncomfortable. ''No need for such things.''

''I'd like you to have it anyway. Not everything is about need.''

Wills shoulder is finished and Hannibal straightens himself. After looking at Wills disputed face he puts a gloved hand under his chin smoothing a thumb over his cheek, forcing Wills eyes on him. ''What do you **_want_** Will?''

A blush spreads over his cheeks and he tries to duck away out of Hannibals hand, but he won’t have it. His grip tightens slightly and he brings his face down to Wills, locking their eyes. ''I want to know.''

Wills pulse is racing when he twists out of the hold,grabbing his shirt, as stumbles out of the bathroom. 

Hannibal sights and cleans up the waste from removing the stitches. 

He finds Will in the living room, shirt buttoned and staring at the harpsichord. He slowly passes him, opens the window slightly and sinks down onto the piano stool, his side facing towards Will. ''I know your life has imposed on you, on countless occasions, that one does not care about what you want. It is hard to recover _your_ wants, from such an obscure compound of wants of other people. I'd like you to try anyway and to find words for it. Take your time.''

He starts with Čiurlionis Nocturnas, allowing Will to watch him play, unseen from a place behind his back, where he had wandered. Outside the open window rain had begun to fall.

 

* * *

 

After half an hour, at the end of some last notes of a piece dying away, he hears Will shift behind him and refrains from playing something else, placing his hands into his lap. 

Will is sucking in a breath, sounding more like a sob. His voice is pressed, when he starts and Hannibal does not have to look at him to know how clenched his whole body is. ''I want'' and his voice breaks. He starts louder the second time, anger on himself making him bold. ''I want to spend my fucking evening with you, sitting at your fucking fire in this living room grading my damn papers while I watch you draw. Or at my place, I don’t care. And I know it’s not gonna happen'', Wills words are getting softer and more quiet now and he whispers the last phrase ''because you are my fucking therapist.''

He flinches badly when Hannibal puts a hand on his shoulder. 

''In fact I am not, you are not my patient. He lets his hand wander to Wills neck and pushes his thumb into the coiled muscles.'' Tension slowly oozes out of Will. ''Sure we do have conversations relating your work and your mind. But this is not an ethical problem, even if it could be considered an unusual setting.''

Wills head falls forward giving Hannibals hand more space to operate. _**Fuck what other people might think**_  whispers his inner voice **_I WANT THAT_**.

''Actually I would be happy to share my evenings with you. Your company is really enjoyable.''

To this Will snorts, his head jerking a little. ''You are the only person that believes that. Does not make it true though.''

Hannibal smiles ''This is mine to judge. Although I am more than willing to hide this fact from the world, if that means the privilege stays all mine.''

His hand leaves Wills neck, shortly lingering between his shoulder blades, before the contact is lost. Hannibal is pleased when he sees Wills reaction, as he seems to deflate. The sudden loss of touch and ebbing flow of oxytocin, combined with the aftermath of a high stress situation bringing out leaden tiredness.

''I will make you some tea.'' He states and turns leaving for the kitchen. He can hear Wills footsteps following close behind. He leans in the door frame and watches Hannibals back while he works. 

''How do you feel, Will? And I don’t necessarily mean your mind with this question.''

''Tired'', Will admits softly. 

''I am aware that you want to spend your night today at home, with your dogs. But I’d rather have you rest and maybe take a nap for half an hour and eat something small before you leave. You look drained. You are not fit to drive at the moment.''

With this he hands him a cup of herbal tea on a saucer. Will allows him to guide him into the guest room. ''Drink it and lay down for some minutes. I will wake you, if you fall asleep.'' He closes the door and leaves Will alone. 

 

* * *

 

After fifteen minutes he is sure that the spiked tea had enough time to work. When he enters, Will is coiled on the bed. He has pulled the blanket away, but fell asleep uncovered, the teacup still in his hand. Hannibal slowly opens his fingers and puts the cup on its saucer on the nightstand. Then he cards his hand into Wills hair and lifts his head a little, to slip off his glasses and put them on the nightstand as well. Hannibal is not above feeling the softness of his curls and his hand lingers for minutes petting Wills head carefully, making him stir in his sleep. 

One day his mongoose might allow him this contact without being drugged into sleep, might even come to him willingly. He breaths in Wills smell and commits the moment to his memory.

Then he pulls the blanket over Wills shoulders, before he leaves to prepare a small dinner. A smile plays on Hannibals lips, because of the unexpectedly pleasing proceedings of today. The drug would wear off within the next twenty minutes, until then dinner should be ready. And for what would come after that, he has absolute no idea. Humming to himself Hannibal enters the kitchen. 

The future was interesting.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The mentioned food can be found online or/and in books, a small description follows.  
>   
> Soup: Burokėlių Sriuba or beetroot soup, a traditional Lithuanian dish. Considering his upbringing this food must hold some memories from his early childhood for Hannibal. More information: Taste Lithuania by Beata Nicholson ISBN: 978-6098157024  
> https://www.eatyourbooks.com/library/recipes/1661997/beet-soup-burokeliu-sriuba
> 
> Main: Foie de Veau Lyonnaise or calf's liver with onions, a hearty french dish. This recipe is a fond memory of Hannibals youth with his aunt and uncle in France. More information: The country cooking of France by Anne Willan ISBN: 9780811846462  
> http://lavarenne.com/recipe/calfs-liver-with-onions-foie-de-veau-lyonnaise/
> 
> Dessert: Pecan pralines with candied lime zest. This recipe is an educated guess on the side of Hannibal to offer Will some comfort and trigger some childhood memories. The lime zest is his personal touch and won't be found in the recipe. A decent recipe can be found online at: I heart recipes with Rosie Mayes, Best Louisiana pralines recipe.  
> https://www.southernliving.com/food/how-to/southern-pecan-pralines
> 
> Everything Will is served is created to counteract the blood loss he suffered. Hence containing high levels of iron and offering fluids and vitamins. Hannibal has only limited time for cooking therefore all recipes have a short preparation time.


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